


Checkmate

by cloudsarefluffy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chess Metaphors, Derek is the King of Stiles' Board, M/M, Mind Games, Nogitsune, Nogitsune Fuckery, POV Derek, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Riddles, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsarefluffy/pseuds/cloudsarefluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek didn’t get it. Stiles — or the <i>Nogitsune</i> — made him the king of the board, and if Derek has learned anything, it’s that Stiles is one of reason and the Nogitsune loves riddles. </p><p>He just doesn’t get how <i>he’s</i> supposed to play into that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> I’m dead. I literally stressed out and restarted on a different fic every other week it feels like for this FuckYeahSterekAU’s Sterek AU Fest. I’m horrible, but I’m crunched for time and I do have a life outside of fic, so writing hasn’t been on my schedule a whole lot since I signed up in January. Fight me, world. Fight me.
> 
> All my love and thanks goes to CJ, AKA the Stiles to my Derek, my trash spouse, for helping me to sit down and write this! They are awesome and I love them to the moon and back. ❤
> 
> As always, links are at the bottom!
> 
> Enjoy!~

 

Derek didn’t get it. Stiles — or the  _Nogitsune_ — made him the king of the board, and if Derek has learned anything, it’s that Stiles is one of reason and the Nogitsune loves riddles.

He just doesn’t get how  _he’s_ supposed to play into that.

It’s not like he’s been a major influence on Stiles, or the pack even, as of recently. After Scott became a true alpha out of nowhere, everyone stopped looking at Derek even though he was still an alpha. He’s been forgotten and abandoned in lieu of a shiner, prettier, and newer alpha to follow, left in the dust and ashes of his old house and the now empty spaces of his loft.

And Stiles — ever faithful and ever loyal Stiles — left Derek like everyone else, tailing his friend like a puppy would its mother, completely oblivious to anything else in the world. Derek blames that on the fact that Stiles and Scott are a packaged deal, and that nothing like Derek could ever register enough to split them apart.

Except now, maybe…

It’s more than likely because Stiles has been falling more and more into the Nogitsune’s hands under the radar over the past few months after everyone graduated, but recently he and Scott have been growing more and more distant. Derek heard of fights and disagreements, of how Stiles started going against Scott with plans and ideas of his own. To an alpha, to even have their second in command grow so bold is somewhat insulting, the wolf thinking that they doubt the power and strength held by them within the pack. But even then, Scott is a stubborn headed person, and Stiles was always brilliant, so maybe that’s where the conflict truly lies.

Now, though, with word out and its presence obvious, the Nogitsune is tearing everything and everyone apart, all the while wearing Stiles like he’s a fine fitting suit tailored just for him.

And Derek  _hates_ it. He hates the way Stiles looks so sickly, pale and with what looks like heavy bruising around his eyes. He hates the way Stiles moves, no longer clumsily, but with grace, cunning, and planning. He hates the way Stiles looks at him, his once warm brown irises full and bright, but now dull and drained with a hint of contempt for Derek.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t get it. The Nogitsune has made it quite clear that it’s not willing to play face, and that it’s here to reap what it’s owed, anyone or anything else be damned. It’s why Derek is so surprised to see Stiles’ room as it is, and more importantly, the chessboard.

King… King of the board.

Stiles and or the Nogitsune made him the king, and everyone else — including Scott — are mere pawns settled around in various places. It would probably make more sense if there was more than one set of pieces to have been laid out, but no, it’s all one color — one side of people playing what seems to be a fruitless game.

When Scott finds it, he doesn’t get it. Derek’s guessing because he doesn’t actually  _see_. He just takes it in and gets angry that Derek’s piece is more intricate, placed off to the side out of harm's way and holding more status than his own expendable piece. To Scott, this is an insult— it isn’t a clue.

But of course it’s a clue. It’s Stiles and the Nogitsune, two minds made up of reason and tactical planning, of logic and intent. Derek knows that every single thing Stiles and or the Nogitsune does is not by serendipity, and that there is something behind the entire set up on the board, and more specifically, with Derek's piece procuring the thrown. Unlike Scott, Derek  _sees—_  he just doesn't _understand._

So he's trying to. He’s analyzing like he hasn't since his English classes in college, when his desk was strewn and covered by papers with theories littered about the lines. He's sure he looks like a mad theorist, strings upon strings trying to tie things together in a mass of connection and paranoia. But Derek knows what is there, hidden beneath the twine and knotting of crimson— it's something Stiles and the Nogitsune wants him to know; something vital and more important than the crown and slip of paper adorning his position on the board.

He's intended to figure it out. He knows this, because even before the Nogitsune took over, Stiles always came to Derek with intimate admissions and truths. If anyone were to figure this out, it would be Derek. No one else.

Maybe that's why Derek comes home one night to his loft and knows. The lights are still off, the air conditioner is running quietly in the foreground. But he _knows._

Derek finds him sitting on the kitchen counter, feet dangling off like an innocent child. His hands grip the rounded edge, lips pulled back in a white smile that doesn't feel warm anymore. He's been waiting, Derek guesses, and he's a tad surprised that he isn't exactly bothered by that.

“Hello, Stiles— or should I call you something else this time around?”

Stiles snorts softly, the sound familiar but foreign at the same time, as Derek strides past to set his keys by the possessed teen. Stiles watches him curiously, the corner of his lips pulled into a smirk.

“Stiles is fine,” he murmurs, and Derek watches him out of the corner of his eye— face starkly obscured by shadow, “How have you been, Derek?”

“Could be better,” he murmurs, unwilling to look at Stiles until necessary, “Is there a reason as to why you’re here?”

Stiles laughs from behind him, “What, a guy can’t visit his friend without getting questioned anymore?”

Derek turns then, brows furrowed, “Last time I checked, I was friends with Stiles, not some random, Japanese demon that got shitted out of an old tree stump.”

Stiles makes a noise of mock hurt, eyes alight with intrigue, “Quite the tongue you got there. I can see why you mean something to Stiles.”

“Enough so to register on the board, apparently.”

Stiles — no, the _Nogitsune_ — hums in thought, “So you caught on, did you? The board? The pieces?”

“Yes,” Derek moves a dirty plate to the sink, a meaningless task in light of the powerful demon wearing a familiar skin behind him, “I haven’t figured it out, though…”

“Shame, that is,” Derek jolts a little, feeling thin, long fingers trail along the thin fabric of his Henley covering his hip, “If you were as smart as you were pretty then we would be having an entirely different conversation—”

Derek snarls then, shoving the Nogitsune away until he knows Stiles’ spine has met the edge of counter. Despite the anger in his movements and the defensive scowl on his face, there’s heat in Stiles’ expression, a hungry glint in his eyes that make Derek hate the Nogitsune just a little more. Familiar faces, they say.

“He’s dreamt about this, you know,” the Nogitsune murmurs, words rich and thick as it uses Stiles’ voice — his body — to press against Derek heatedly, “You shoving him into things. You being carnal with him. He wanted you. Wanted you as soon as he met him.”

Derek growls in warning. He knows it’s fruitless, though. Enemy or not, he’s wearing friendly skin. He couldn’t harm Stiles if he tried, even if said person were possessed and was grinning like he’s got a knife up his sleeve; and knowing the Nogitsune, he probably does.

“Get off of me,” Derek grits out, fangs threatening to poke past his lips like the way Stiles’ fingers threaten to dip past the hem of his jeans.

“You don’t get it— you _see_ but you don’t  _understand,_ ” he hisses, some anger now pinching his brow, “There’s reason for everything, Derek. Nothing occurs just because of serendipity or happenstance.”

There’s a rumble from Derek’s chest, his words gruff, “What difference would it make?”

Derek nearly flinches when Stiles’ hand — palm soft, tips slightly calloused from where Stiles always nervously rubs his fingers together — comes up to cup his cheek, “It makes all of the difference, Derek…”

He begins to pull away, Stiles’ skin feeling cold and stony despite his animation, but the Nogitsune stops him, hold firm enough to outweigh Derek’s supernatural strength.

“You like to pretend you’re invincible, but you’re actually the most vulnerable out of them all. You hold up your status like it’s a diplomatic card of immunity, but behind that you’re just as weak and mortal as everyone else— if not more. But what you don’t realize is that you’ve already lost your biggest player, and now the game is naught. Tell me, what are you?”

Derek blinks, the words catching him off guard. The Nogitsune makes Stiles’ face scrunch up, patience wearing thin as Derek comes up with nothing.

“Well?” he hisses.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, suddenly feeling powerless as he realizes that the Nogitsune has easily pinned him underneath his thumb, “I— I don’t _know,_ ” he repeats, more desperate.

The Nogitsune tsks, eyes narrowing dangerously, “I don’t like it when people don’t figure out my riddles, especially when they’re so frightfully _easy._ ”

The werewolf swallows, throat taut and palms beginning to sweat— the Nogitsune’s vindictive anger reminds him so much of Kate’s, “It’s not that simple. It— it never was. Either with you or with Stiles. It was never simple.”

“Maybe that’s just what you think,” the Nogitsune murmurs, anger fizzling out into what now seems to be consideration, “Tell me, if I let Stiles play for a little bit, would that help clear things up?”

Derek’s eyes widen, “You— you—”

“He’s screaming right now. He wants you, just like he always has,” his dark gaze moves down to Derek’s lips, the skin of his eyelids narrow minutely in thought, “The only riddle he has to solve is if you want him too.”

The alpha is caught off guard by that, unable to school himself together as it happens so suddenly. From power and prowess, to weak and scared, Derek watches Stiles’ body and mindset change as though a switch were flipped. Derek barely keeps up, catching Stiles’ body before he falls onto the hard tiles of the kitchen floor, his form heavy in Derek’s arms.

“D-Derek,” Stiles is sobbing now, and god— it breaks Derek’s heart, “He— he—”

Derek shushes him, because he doesn’t know what to say right now— doesn’t know if this is just some elaborate trick or joke that’s not funny at all. No, it can’t be funny with how broken Stiles feels against him now, curling in on himself and shaking violently through his sobs.

They wait there for some time, for how long, Derek doesn’t quite know. All he’s able to discern is that there is soft, opaque light filtering in through the loft’s windows, and that Stiles’ crying has dissipated from bloodcurdling wailing to soft whimpers and then nothing— nothing but a few scant tears rolling down his blotchy skin as he resolves to holding onto Derek as though he were an anchor.

He probably is…

Eventually though, Stiles quiets and stops crying completely, eyes bloodshot as he looks up at Derek. There’s a soft pleading in his gaze, a wordless questioning that makes Derek wonder why Stiles ever had to talk to him in the first place.

He lifts Stiles up, feeling something calm as Stiles settles against his chest, hand lightly gripping at the dampened fabric of his Henely. The werewolf leads them to his room, towards the mattress that lays on the floor covered in blankets. He sets Stiles down first, noticing that the teen’s eyes have closed and he’s already slipped into unconsciousness, leaving Derek feeling a little disappointed that he and Stiles weren’t able to talk.

This could’ve been their only chance, after all…

But he shoves it away, saves that anger for later. Right now, even though he’s asleep, Stiles needs him. Needs him to be there and hold him and make him feel safe while the Nogitsune is prowling at a distance, ready to steal back his body if it so pleases. It’s truly a false safety in that sense, but Derek supposes it’s better than nothing at all.

He covers Stiles in the duvet and lays down beside him, eyes taking in Stiles as he rests. His face is slack, mouth parted slightly to breathe. He looks so innocent— lighter than he has been in months. It’s almost as if the Nogitsune never possessed him and treated him as though he were an expendable marionette, strings pulled tight and meticulously moved to dance as the Nogitsune pleased. Derek can tell it’s been taxing on Stiles, both physically and mentally, if tonight were any indication. Lips chapped and cracked, cheeks covered in stark tear tracks. Stiles looks like a former masterpiece, the once beautiful motif destroyed and left to remain in ruin, forcing Derek to look upon a shadow of Stiles’ previous self.

And Derek hates the Nogitsune a little more for it.

**-xXx-**

He must’ve fallen asleep sometime while staring at Stiles, because he suddenly opens his eyes to sunlight and a vacant bed, sans himself. He’s not too surprised, especially when he outstretches a hand over to where the sheets are still contorted from Stiles’ presence, and he finds the fabric cold.

He was hoping to talk — to see if he could get Stiles an upper hand. He— he wanted more time.

There’s nothing he can do, though. He’s been trying for some time to figure out how in the world to rid Stiles’ of the Nogitsune’s grasp, but he’s been obviously unsuccessful. It’s his fault— he’s failing Stiles when he needs him most.

Derek sits up at that stark realization, a sort of numb acceptance settling in his chest like the oxygen he breathes in slowly.

He’s going to solve this damn riddle if it kills him.

**-xXx-**

“Still at work, I see.”

Peter is over, standing behind Derek and watching as he flips through a thesaurus, double checking his list.

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you to care about Stilinski this much,” Peter murmurs honestly, but Derek doesn’t raise to the bait— he’s got more important things to be angry about that Peter’s prodding and intrusive statements, “Are you ever going to take a break?”

“No,” he answers simply.

He must’ve surprised Peter, or honestly taken him off guard with that reply. There’s a slight raise to his eyebrows and a widening to his eyes. It’s obvious that this non-stop dedication Derek is giving is unexpected for the older Hale.

“Don’t you think you should, though? It’s been _months,_ Derek. Most people think Stiles has disappeared, including his own father who happens to be a sheriff. Don’t you think that it’s time to give up now?”

Derek slams his hand down, because no one gets it. No one understands, no one sees.

“I’m not giving up on Stiles.”

“The boy is gone, Derek. He’s more than likely dea—”

Derek is roaring, shoving his uncle into the wall and pushing harder even as the support beams creak and the plaster gives way. His fangs are exposed, his top lip pulled back in furious snarl as crimson bleeds into his vision.

“ _Don’t say that,_ ” the alpha grits out, nails digging into Peter’s flesh and forcing the skin to break and the fibers of muscle and sinew underneath to tear, “Don’t you _dare_ say that he’s— he’s—”

“Dead,” Peter says easily, unphased by Derek’s anger or the pain, his own blood running down his arms and dripping heavily onto the loft’s floor not enough to stir a panic out of him, “Derek, the Nogitsune has been using Stiles for nearly a year now. His body must be worn out after all this. I’m surprised it hasn’t even given up yet.”

A highly displeased rumble escapes Derek, “There’s still a chance I can save him. There’s still time.”

“Is there?” Peter asks.

Derek doesn’t reply.

**-xXx-**

Derek knows that things are dire when Scott is done trying. After all, it’s Stiles’ childhood best friend, throwing in the towel and calling it quits.

If that isn’t a sign, then Derek must truly be blind…

**-xXx-**

Later, when Derek visits Stiles’ old room, left locked and ignored by the sheriff, he notices that Scott’s pawn is no longer adorning the board.

The riddle seems to have become even more complicated.

**-xXx-**

He seems to be the only one looking anymore, trying to get Stiles back even though no one has seen or heard of him for over a year. Derek’s lucky in that sense, that the Nogitsune paid him a visit right before it made itself and Stiles drop off the radar — told him to solve the riddle — that there’s a chance to _save_ Stiles.

It’s about the only thing that keeps Derek going.

**-xXx-**

He comes here whenever he needs to. The sheriff doesn’t know, but he’s usually at work or sleeping off a bottle of whiskey when Derek arrives. His presence isn’t noticed. Derek’s thankful for that— that Stiles’ room is a small sliver of personal, private reprieve. It makes spacing out a little easier.

Despite not having been used for quite some time, it still faintly smells of Stiles, as though he had just been there and Derek were only waiting for him to come back.

It hurts.

**-xXx-**

Chess. It’s a game of wit and strategy. Each piece has a purpose, has certain movements and abilities. There is power and vulnerability with each one. Derek has learned and memorized each one by now, despite having never played.

Derek’s the last one now, the other pieces and people having long since stopped playing. He figures it’s a twist of irony, that a king is left to rule over nothing, having not even as much as a queen.

 _Checkmate,_  Derek supposes one night, fiddling with his piece between his fingers, eyes overlooking the view from his loft’s window as he reclines in his seat.

And then he drops it. Because he knows.

“Figured it out, did you?”

Derek turns, eyes pinned on the person before him.

“Nogitsune? . . .”

There’s a slight lift to his lips, “Close, but not quite.”

Derek frowns, and his piece stills from where it was rolling on the floor, “Where have you been?”

“Around,” he comments idly, running his fingers along the counter top fondly, “I've been watching you.”

“You have been? This whole time?”

Stiles nods, “You've kept going. Of course I have.”

Derek snorts lightly, running a hand down his face, “I guess you've had quite a show, then.”

The teen comes forward then, stopping right in front of Derek, eyes trailing over his form in consideration.

“How much have you missed me?”

“A better question would be how much have I not missed _him,_ ” Derek responds truthfully, ignoring the Nogitsune's attempts at tricking him.

It feels like a fever dream, with Stiles’ form above him, fingers gripping onto Derek now as he slinks down to sit on his lap. Blood flows hotly under Derek’s skin, but he remains impassive and motionless as the Nogitsune places Stiles’ body so perfectly over Derek's.

“No, please,” Derek whispers, because this is too much for him— not when Stiles isn't—

“Relax…”

Derek feels powerless, Stiles’ hips placed so tightly against his own, a small smirk playing on his lips. A reverent finger runs down Derek’s cheek, stopping as it curves and reaches the bow of his lips.

“You never answered my question…”

Stiles’ skin feels warmer than it ever has. It’s still cold, but it’s the most normal Derek has ever felt it. Maybe the Nogitsune isn’t as strong now as it once was. Maybe it wasn’t Stiles that had grown weak.

Derek closes his eyes, breathing out — carbon dioxide and need — as he somberly leans into the touch, “About the riddle?”

“Yes,” he answers simply, but his touches are about as intricate and complex as the mysteries he’s surrounded in.

“I think I have,” Derek whispers, “but you have to solve mine first.”

Stiles huffs fondly, the breath making Derek softly shiver, “I think I already know the answer, but humor me, would you?”

“You like to think you’re weak, but you’re actually the most powerful out of them all. You hold up your heart like it’s the most simple of offers, but your loyalty is equal to everyone else— if not more. But what you don’t realize is that you’re already the biggest player, and now for you the game is aimless. Tell me, what are you?

“The queen,” Stiles breathes, lips now brushing against Derek’s scantily, “But do you remember mine?”

“You like to pretend you’re invincible, but you’re actually the most vulnerable out of them all. You hold up your status like it’s a diplomatic card of immunity, but behind that you’re just as weak and mortal as everyone else— if not more. But what you don’t realize is that you’ve already lost your biggest player, and now the game is naught. Tell me, what are you?” Derek barely presses his mouth against Stiles’, leaning away after a millisecond of connection, “If you’re the queen, then what am I?”

Stiles hums, “What you always have been.”

“The king,” Derek whispers.

“I don’t understand this one,” fingers run through Derek’s hair, tugging lightly at the strands only to move until Stiles’ hand is placed vicariously at the nape of Derek’s neck, “I’ve never been that good at chess.”

Derek smirks, and he holds Stiles’ waist, “Pawns are disposable. They can run around the board, but they don’t do much. Then you have your better pieces, the rooks and knights, so on so forth... The queen, however, is more powerful than any piece. It’s the most versatile on the board, and highly overlooked,” Derek opens his eyes, finding Stiles’ staring at him, “The king is who everyone wants. It’s the piece that, once it is lost, the game is over. Checkmate…”

“So it’s the most powerful?”

“No, it’s actually the weakest,” Derek runs a reverent hand down Stiles’ cheek, “especially when it loses its queen.”

Stiles furrows his brow, “I don’t understand…”

“Stiles, everyone on that board was a pawn except me. The game that was set was one to be lost, because all of the pieces a king would need were gone… like you.”

“The most valuable piece,” Stiles exhales, eyes widening, “I— I—”

“A king is nothing without its queen,” Derek relishes in Stiles then, gripping tightly, “The Nogitsune knew I was nothing without you.”

“Then it was right… about the other riddle.”

Derek quirks a brow.

“It— it told me if I wanted control back, I had to beat him. Not through power, but through wit,” Stiles grins softly, “It took me a while, a lot of what seemed like chess and guessing games in purgatory, but I figured its riddle out. I— I came here last after I got freed. I needed to make sure everything was official and back to normal before I saw you again.”

Derek stares then, shocked.

Stiles had beaten the Nogitsune? He was actually  _free?_

He swallows, disbelieving it for a second, “How?”

“You, Derek. You were the answer,” he laughs then, almost graceful, “Actually, the answer was _us._ ”

“The most dangerous game,” Derek comments idly, “Who knew it was chess?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, sinking in for a kiss, “Checkmate, then.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ##### Prompt me here at:
> 
> http://sunshinexlollipops.tumblr.com/promptask
> 
> ##### This was written to:
> 
> Control — Halsey (Male Version)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0q30NrUdW4


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